Hell Isn't Just a Place
by messed-up-reader
Summary: Dean is back from hell, but life just seems to keep getting worse. He can't handle ... well ... anything. And Cas complicates everything by telling Sam just that. TW: self harm, drinking, drugs
1. Chapter 1

So Dean was back from hell. Sam had stopped doing the weird demon mind exorcisms. Well, at least as far as Dean knew.

What was wrong then? Why was Dean so angry with himself? Why did he want to start doing what he had stopped doing around the time he made the deal to bring Sam back? Why was he in the bathroom in the dark, Sam snoring just outside of it, with a blade pressed to his hip?

Dean didn't know. Not really. He couldn't pinpoint the exact reason. I mean he had _**a lot**_ to choose from. What he did in the pit for starters. That was a big part of it. _I dedicated my entire life to saving people and hunting things, the things I was hurting people for. How could I just turn on everything I ever stood for? Stupid, worthless, piece of shit . . ._

And then there was his father's voice. Still there, ringing in the back of his mind, clear as day. _I told you protect Sammy, Dean! What you want doesn't matter. Protect Sammy._ And he had. Hadn't he? He gave his life for Sam's. But right before John sacrificed himself for Dean, he told him to kill his brother if he had to. And Dean didn't. But which order was he supposed to listen too. Dean was a good little soldier. But he couldn't listen to both. _Had he done the right thing?_ _Did I even deserve to be back? Probably not. Did I deserve to die in the first place? Hell yeah. So why the fuck am I here?_

And with that thought, he pressed the blade down. The sweet, cool metal kissed his skin. Blood flowered underneath it. He let out a breath and relaxed, letting the blood drip down his leg. He made a couple of more right next to it. Every negative thought vanquished for that split second. The distraction when everything became too much. When he wasn't enough. After a minute, he cleaned the wound and the knife, and he dressed again.

Dean sat on the bed, fully clothed, drinking whiskey until he fell asleep. It took ages, but he finally did, only to face the nightmares once again. His dreams weren't his imagination at all, just memories - the kind you try to bury. Every morning Dean would awake with a start, and immediately drink copious amounts of alcohol just to get through the day. He repeated this process for weeks. The cutting, the drinking, and every once and awhile he made it interesting and threw in some coke or oxy. But only on the bad days. The really bad days.

Nothing changed for almost a month. He acted like a functioning alcoholic that wasn't trying too hard to hide it, and Sam pretended not to notice his brother's drinking. They hunted some evil sons-of-bitches and kept trying to make progress on the whole Lilith/Apocalypse front. They had found a routine.

One day, though, after a basic ghost job, when they were celebrating at a bar, Cas appeared.

"Holy shit, Cas. Don't just appear," Dean practically yelled when the angel appeared in the booth beside Sam. Sam, the graceful moose he is, spilled his drink. Not that it mattered. Cas fixed it by snapping his fingers.

"Sorry Dean. Its how angels get around. It's much quicker than walking or riding in a 'car'." Cas did air quotes around car for reasons Sam and Dean didn't even try to figure out.

"Cas," Dean said frustratedly, "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you Dean."

"About what?"

"I'm worried."

"Yeah. The end is nigh. We can't stop it. Lucifer will rise and take over the world. We're all worried."

"No. Dean. You misunderstand. I'm worried about you."

"Why the hell are you worried about me?"

Sam chooses this moment to interject, "The drinking?"

Cas nods, "Yes, and the nightmares."

"Wait you know what I'm dreaming about?"

"Not exactly, but I know you haven't been sleeping."

"How?"  
"I watch over you sometimes."

Dean just looked at Cas. A look that said _What the hell is wrong with you?_

Cas didn't notice.

"Not to mention the cuts."

Dean felt the wind get knocked out of him. _Why would that feathered dick say that in front of Sam?_ He looked down at his beer. He couldn't look at Sam. Not now.

"Dean," Sam's voice was tiny, "Are you cutting again? I thought you stopped after high school."

Dean was silent.

"Anything else Cas. I need to speak with my brother alone."

"Well there are the drugs."

Dean could feel Sam staring holes into his skull. He closed his eyes. Then he grabbed his beer and downed it, and got up to run out the door. But he stopped, and growled, "Fuck you both. I don't owe you anything."

After that he ran out the door of the bar, hopped in the Impala, and drove away. As fast as he possibly could, leaving a angel with ruffled feathers and a very pissed off Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn't know where he was driving, just that he needed to get away. He needed to get away from Sam and Cas and this freaking apocalypse and himself. He needed to get away from himself. I mean could he really blame Sam for getting pissed off. No. Not when he he hated himself for what he was doing. But he was doing what he had to because he hated himself.

It was a vicious cycle.

The Impala was pushing 100 when Dean's phone began to ring.

He ignored it. He drove for 20 miles before he had to slow down and stop for gas. The only sound in the car was the wind rushing in the windows and his phone ringing.

When Dean stopped, his pulse had finally slowed and his thoughts were clearer. He felt like he could breathe again. He filled up Baby and went inside the gas station for a six pack.

He got back in his car and drank a couple before finally answering his phone. He closed his eyes and flipped open the phone.

"Hey Sammy."

"Dean where the hell are you?" Sam didn't sound angry as much as panicked. I mean he sounded pissed but he seemed more worried.

"I'm fine Sam."

"Why weren't you answering your phone? I've been calling for the last half hour."

"I know. I'm not deaf. I'm fine Sam. Stop worrying."

"No. You don't get to tell me that after what Cas told me."

"He had no right."

"Oh shove it Dean. That isn't what really gets to you."

"I don't want to have this conversation on the phone. I'd like to be able to hit you if I want."

Dean heard Sam chuckle on the other end of the line.

"Fine. Meet me back at the room. Bring beer."

The line clicked off, and Dean was left in the silence. Alone with his thoughts. Which is exactly where he didn't want to be. He started the Impala and cranked the radio.

On his way back to Sam he didn't drive as fast. He wasn't trying to outrun anything this time, he was looking for something. He didn't quite know what though.

He was almost back at the hotel room when he looked over and saw well, the one 'person' he didn't want to see. At all.

"Cas. You can't just appear whenever you feel like it. I told you this an hour ago."

"I know."

"I'm also super pissed at you. I would shoot you if it would do anything."

"It won't"

"I know."

"I didn't mean to hurt you Dean. I just wanted to help."

"No. Cas. You didn't want to help. If you had wanted to help, you would have talked to me. Alone."

"You wouldn't have listened to me. This way you have someone else that knows. That can help."

"Yeah well…"

"I knew you used to do this 'self-harm' before you died."

Dean slowed the car and pulled to a stop at the side of the road, "Okay so we are doing this now."

"How did you know?" Dean asked, "Can you read my mind or something?"

"No, but I saw your soul, when I raised you. And I saw what your body used to look like. I knew every detail."

"Really Cas? That's not pervy at all."

"I… What?"

"Nevermind. Why did you get rid of like all my scars if you knew exactly what my body used to look like?"

"I thought you would want to forget. You were always wishing for that. To forget who you are. You used to wish to be free from your pain. I thought I was granting that wish."

"You didn't."

"I know that now. Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"Oh. Cas. I'm way too sober to have this conversation."

"You need to talk."

"No."

"It will help."

"I was never taught to talk! Damn it Cas!" Dean exploded.

"I'm sorry. Dean I …"

"I was taught to shut up. To keep everything inside. Because if I let myself seem weak Sammy would be scared or the monsters would win. I can't let people use my emotions against me. My life. No. Sam's life depended … depends on it."

"That wasn't your job."

"Yes it was."

"Not when you were so young. Not now. Not ever."

"Yeah. Whatever."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Can we talk about this later? I have to have a similar conversation with my brother now."

"Yes of course." As soon as Cas finished talking, he disappeared. It still freaked Dean out.

When he pulled up to the motel, the lights were on. He paused before he opened the door and took a deep breath.


	3. Chapter 3

The door swung open to reveal Sam clutching his phone in both hands with his chin resting on them. He looked more worried than Dean had ever seen him. More worried than he was last time when he found out about Dean and his … coping methods.

"Hey," Dean said as he closed the door. Sam jumped up and hugged Dean. Then he grabbed the beers out of his hands and opened two, handing one to Dean.

"We need to talk," Sam said.

"I know."

"How long?"

"About a week after I got back, it started again."

"And the drugs?"

"Sam it isn't a big deal. It isn't like high school. It isn't like before. I'm careful. I only use on really bad days. And I'm careful."

Sam sighed and looked down at the gross motel carpet, "There is no such thing as careful when you are talking about recreational drug use." He paused. "What are you using?"

"Mostly coke. Some oxy. I check everything I get. I make sure it is good stuff."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"If I said I will stop, would it?"

"Yes. Will you stop?"

"I can try."

"Not good enough."

"Yeah. I know. Never good enough."

"What does that mean?"

"You know what that means. You feel the same way. We were never enough. No matter how hard we tried. Dad was always a little disappointed in us even if we were killing so much evil it wasn't even funny. And trying is never good enough when you are hunting. You have to be the best. Or you die. Or if you are unlucky enough to be us, the world ends."

Sam was silent. He took a sip of his beer, "Yeah, you're right."

"That is all you have to say. No, 'you're being too hard on yourself Dean.' 'It will all be fine Dean.'"

"No. I'm not going to lie to you. That stuff is bullshit and you know and you would be even more pissed at me if that was all I said."

"Just a side note, you do realize how stupid it is to ask to drink with a functioning alcoholic when trying to get them to stop self destructive behavior."

"Oh I know, but trying to get you to stop drinking is impossible. Also you would never have this conversation sober."

"I'll drink to that," Dean sighed and raised the bottle to his lips.

"Is that what this is all about though? Dad and feeling …"

"Yeah. No. I don't know."

Dean paused.

"I mean Dad's part of it you know. He taught us to deal with the external stuff, but he never helped us …"

"Be human."

"Yeah. I just I don't know how to… Oh god this is gonna sound cheesy. To like myself. I don't know how to be happy Sammy."

"I know how you feel. I mean you get those moments. But nothing permanent. You feel like you're constantly fighting for those moments."

"For some peace?"

"Yeah."

"But it's different for you Sam. You had four years of normal. Or mostly normal. You had Jessica. I had some glimpses in high school. But the glimpses just make it hurt more. And going to hell made me realize I'm never going to get that. I'm never going to get normal. I'm never going to get happy. And I wonder if I even deserve that? After everything I've done. The damage. The pain I cause. I don't deserve… didn't deserve to be saved."

Sam was silent. He had no argument. He knew Dean deserved to be saved. He was the most heroic person Sam knew, but how do you convince someone of their worth?

"How do you know you don't deserve to be saved?"

"What I did in hell …"

"I know but you were in _hell_ Dean. You need to stop hating yourself." Sam was getting angry. Not at Dean. But at the world. How could it make his brother, a person who only thought of others, screw how it impacted him, a person who only wanted to help, a person who had given everything he had to the world, think they are worthless?

"But why me? I'm sure there were plenty of unlucky bastards in hell that deserved saving more than I did."

"Before you went to hell, before you even made that fucking deal, did you think you were going to hell when you died? Did you think that was the end you deserved?"

"Yes."

"But. Why?"

"I already told you, I felt like I had failed at everything I had tried to accomplish. I mean, what we do. It's pointless. We can't kill all the evil in the world. There are more awful, supernatural sons of bitches than hunters. I mean is what we're doing making a difference. We save some people, sure, but they'll still die eventually. And, honestly, I was tired. I've been tired for a long time Sammy."

"What do you mean?"

"I've given everything I have. I don't know how to live for myself. Only others. And you know that thing Jesus said about more happiness in giving than receiving or something?"

"Yeah?"

"I call bullshit. I've given my entire life. First it was Mom, then a normal childhood, then a normal life period, then dad, then you. And when you died, I didn't know what to do. I spent my entire life, living for someone else, making sure they were okay. What's my purpose with no one to protect?"

"You're wrong Dean. What we do matters. The people we save may not live forever, but alive is better than dead. Death affects more than just the person that dies. Actually they might have it the easiest. And we do it to keep the human race safe from these creatures, monsters, the freaks. And if you feel that way Dean, do something for yourself. What do you want?"

"I don't even know anymore."


	4. Chapter 4

"It doesn't have to be something big Dean. Just tell me what you want to do? What do _you_ want?" Sam said.

"I want to be able to go to sleep sober. I want to wake up to the rising sun, not a nightmare. I want to cook food in an actual kitchen. I want to settle down with someone. I want to forget about all the monsters in the world, and just live a normal life." Dean's eyes water, tears threatening to fall down his face.

Sam sighed. "Okay. Well, maybe we can do something about the cooking food thing."

Dean was silent.

"Dean? We could go to Bobby's and cook some burgers or something. Whatever you want. It wouldn't be that hard."

"No," Dean's voice was barely a whisper, but there was venom behind it.

"What do you mean? I thought that's what you wanted."

"I do, but not that, not like this. Not out of pity."

Sam rubbed his face, partly from exhaustion, partly out of annoyance.

"I'm going to bed," Dean said as he got up and put his beer on the table. He turned off the lights and laid down. He didn't even bother to take off his shoes. Sam did the same, but he actually changed.

Dean woke up just before dawn was breaking. The sky was a purplish-black. He was breathing heavily, still reeling from the nightmare. Sam was fast asleep, snoring, on the other bed. Dean got up, and grabbed his keys. He left the room, making sure not to wake up Sam.

He sat in the Impala, outside the motel for a good ten minutes before even moving. And when he did move it was to grab a box he had under his seat. If he cared at all about what Sam and Cas had been telling him, he would chuck the entire box. And while he did care about what they were saying, he couldn't bring himself to stop it.

He opened the box. He took out a knife - the knife. The knife he always used. He pressed the blade against his wrist. He didn't normally use his wrists - too obvious, too hard to explain. But he didn't care. He couldn't bring himself to care about all this shit anymore. He pressed down, hard, deeper than he had ever gone. He felt his entire body relax with the pain - the good kind, not the kind that he felt in his head all the damn time.

He was sitting there, letting the blood trickle down his arm, the pain screaming in his arm, eyes closed, when there was a burst of wind, a touch to his wrist, a flash of light, and then nothing. He looked to his right, and in the passenger seat was a confused and pissed off Cas.

"What the hell Cas?"

"No."

Dean shook his head in confusion, "What?"

"No. No you are not doing that. Not anymore."

"You may have raised me from perdition but you don't control me so you can get your feathery ass back to heaven and leave me alone."

"I'm not leaving. We need to talk Dean. Actually talk. You and Sam may have had a nice little conversation, but it was surface. You are avoiding your problems."

"I'm pretty sure I run straight at danger. I don't avoid my problems."

"You do when it's personal."

"What do you want to know Cas?" Dean asked, defeated.

"When did you start?"

"Ugh. I think I was about 16 or so. Sam had ran off. We didn't know where he was. Dad was pissed. He blamed it all on me. And I believed that. I blamed myself too. I just felt like crap."

"Did your dad?"

"Yeah. He didn't get physical often, but he did when he had to."

"No one has to beat their kids Dean."

"He didn't beat us per se. Just a couple of punches and slaps. Nothing too hard. Not too often."

"You didn't deserve any of that."

"Yeah I did. Anyways, I started just to regain some control. I couldn't control the situation with Sam gone. I wanted a way to control it and a way to punish myself so. I don't know what I was thinking exactly, but I did it and it felt so good. It made me feel at peace and calm and in control. Only for a couple of seconds but it was bliss. It also gave me something to worry about, something to take my mind off everything else."

Cas looked down. And then he looked back at Dean. Dean looked tired. Not just physically tired, which he obviously was, but everything tired. Tired of existing tired. Cas could see the weight on his shoulders. The weight of the world. And it wasn't a recent weight either, it had been there a long time. And this pissed Cas off.

"I hate this," growled Cas.

"What?" Dean looked over in surprise.

"I hate the world for making you feel like you would be better off not existing. I hate your father for making you feel worthless. And I kind of hate you for lying about all of this for so long."

"Hey. I don't think that's fair."

"You told Sam you stopped all of the self harm after high school, but you didn't. Don't look so surprised. I'm not an idiot. Why would you tell him that even though you were so obviously still in pain?"

"Because it was hurting him too. I couldn't fix myself. Sam had tried. And he was too young. I wanted to make it easier on him. Give him as much of a normal childhood as I could."

"It worked."

"Yeah. He is much more well adjusted than I am."

"But you should have asked for help."

"Who would I have asked Cas? I'm the one everyone comes to when they need help. Not the other way around. I give everything I have to the world, to everyone I even remotely care about, and none of them try to return the favor. And I'm an idiot with too much pride to ask for help. And also if it was just drugs or something it would be easier to ask for help. That's an addiction, not," he gestured to his arm, "whatever this is."

"I've been watching humans long enough to know that a person can get addicted to anything. And that this particular addiction, never ends well, and rarely ends on its own."

"You've watched people cut themselves."

"Since the beginning. We were stationed on Earth since the beginning. The things I've seen Dean," the angel paused, remembering the history of an entire species and everything it went through to get to this point.

"And you never intervened to help any of those people?"

"No. We couldn't. It wasn't allowed."

"Then why help me? Is that allowed?"

"I have orders not to take a personal interest in you."

"Then why?"

"You are a good man Dean Winchester. More righteous than any I have ever met, and you are my friend."

"I'm not a good person. I kill things."

"You do what you think is right. All the time. You protect those you love, even if it means sacrificing yourself. And all you really want is for those people to be healthy and happy. If that isn't good, I don't know what is."

"Cas. I appreciate everything you've been saying, but this isn't going to change anything. I've been trying to quit most of my life, and once tiny conversation won't solve that."

"I know. But remember I'm here. You should get back. Sam will be wondering where you got off to."


End file.
